


Seven Drunken Nights

by HandBasketOnMyHead



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk!Tony, Drunkenness, F/M, Funny, Gen, M/M, Other, Science Bros, Smutlet, Stark Tower, story time!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:49:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandBasketOnMyHead/pseuds/HandBasketOnMyHead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arriving back at the residential floor of the tower was always a bit of a challenge for Tony. But now that he's invited the rest of the team of Avenging superheroes to stay, Tony is in for several drunken surprises, some bigger than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On A Monday Night...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatyCruel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatyCruel/gifts).



> This is for my very very good friend/almost sister Alexa and for my friend Telea, who also edited a little.

Tony had, as every day, gone to his very special bar in Stark Tower, and make himself a strong drink... or two. Or several, actually; he didn't really keep count. Tony was a very good drunk under normal circumstances. He could find his room, and could make sure "his" room wasn't actually Natasha's or Banner's, or anyone else's. I suppose I should explain the whole "whose room is whose" thing... Since they'd decided to go on with The Avengers Initiative, Tony had built rooms into the remodeling to Stark Tower in order to accommodate his new companions. Oftentimes, they were all out doing different things, but the point was that they always had a home there, and there was a very good schawarma joint just down the street. And they better be damn grateful, in Tony's opinion, because he'd made a point of giving them all their own fucking _bathrooms_. **Bathrooms**. He wasn't sure why this was a big deal... But it was. 

As he made his way slowly to the elevator with the intent of reaching his room safely and without a disturbance, he found himself... well, disturbed. We'll have to rewind a bit here... see, the two assassins were on a bit of a break and living in the same... tower had brought Clint and Natasha very close together. _Very_ close together. Tony had dismissed this. He and Pepper used to screw all the time around the tower before she left him. Apparantly she felt she was having only "12 percent" of the relationship. They'd fuck on the bar, on the table, on the stairs, in the lab (not a good idea, in hindsight), on the roof... But he didn't think Clint and Natasha were that kind of couple, really. And he'd never seen them be obvious about their relationship. Whatever weird assassin foreplay they were into, Tony was confident that they kept it safely locked into one of their bedrooms. Which is why the Genius-Billionaire-Playboy-Philanthropist was thoroughly shocked when he punched the glowing pale-blue circle, the elevator doors opened, and he found himself staring at an entirely foreign and unfamiliar sight.

Someone _else's_ dick inside someone _else's_ pussy. They were thoroughly ignoring Tony, it seemed, much to his relief. He was practically invisible. Natasha was moaning and pulling at Clint's hair, her legs wrapped tightly around her waist, her head thrown back. Clint was grunting and thrusting into her roughly, his mouth on one of her breasts. He had her pinned against the wall, her ass resting on the railing and cupped in his hands for support, though Clint could easily have held her up without the help of the stainless- thank Asgard- steel. In his drunken state, Tony was a bit paralyzed. Here, in the elevator in front of him, was the most discreet, secretive couple on the face of the earth having rough, loud sex. _In Tony Stark's Elevator. The **elevator**._

Tony, recovering and doing what any normal drunk genius would do, turned on heel and promptly fell on his face creating a loud thud one wouldn't think possible of a man who is 5'9". Cursing loudly- as if the sound of him hitting the ground hadn't alreay disturbed the couple, Tony held his hands up to his eyes, fearing for his already slightly unstable mental health.

"Please, no! Not again!" He wailed. When his morbid curiosity got the better of him, peering through a crack in his fingers, Tony's jaw dropped. Both assassins were dressed again in their usual clothes- albeit a bit sloppily. Hawkeye had bitemarks along his collarbone, over which he was still buttoning his shirt and Natasha's hair looked as though a tornado had hit but they were... dressed. "I'm... going to bed..." Tony said slowly, standing and limping into the elevator. As he stepped in, he wrinkled his nose. "It smells like..." He grumbled, before punching the button for his floor. 

 **Ding!** The elevator announced his arrival at his own private apartment-like level. He staggered out of it, still in a state of shock. 

"Why... Why would you... Why not make the doors seal shut?!" He asked out loud. "Just why?!" he wandered into his bedroom, shaking his head occasionally and blinking often. Reaching his golden sheets and red comforter at last, Tony Stark fell into bed (still in his day clothes) and tried very hard not to dream of weird black widow-hawk babies. He was rather unsuccessful... 


	2. On a Tuesday Night...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony once again has an unfortunately eventful night after attempting to drown the memory of the last one. Less sex, more fluff-ish. Funny.

Tony Stark, once again returning from his special little place full of alcohol and darkness, decided to take the stairs. He'd been trying to drown the memory of Clint's hands cupping Natasha's ass, of Natasha moaning, of... He shook his head, stopping on a landing to hit his head against the wall. "Ow. Ow. Ow." He punctuated each blow. Apparantly getting drunk didn't solve your problems. Who knew?! He turn from the wall, and put a hand on the railing, hoping the room would stop spinning long enough for him to finish his ascent to the floor where, he was beginning to regret, all of the Avengers' rooms had been placed. The railing was cold and metal and solid, and he grasped it like a child holds on to their parent's hand, allowing himself a moment of weakness.

"I'm too old for this shit..." He grumbled, beginning to once again climb the stairs, muttering to himself incoherently. He stopped in his tracks suddenly when a rather discomforting sound reached his ears. _Oh, God, please not again..._ He pleaded with theuniverse. Steeling himself for the worst, the Genius-Billionaire-Playboy-Philanthropist climbed to the next landing and encountered something altogether otherwise from the previous night's experience, but nearly as unhinging. On the top stair, making no effort to be discreet was a laughing, gleeful, shirtless Darcy who had in her grasp an amused- that's not quite the correct word though.. more like (though Tony hated the thought) excited-, shirtless, and far-less-shy-than-normal Steve. One of the woman's arms was wrapped around the Captain's neck and the other was cupping and sort of massaging a very noticeable bulge in the front of the Captain pants. Tony's hand flew up, covering his own eyes before he could be further scarred.

Still, though his eyes were covered, Tony had a very clear picture of what was going on. Darcy's mouth was against Steve's intermittently between grins and the kissing of other places, eyes sometimes opened, sometimes closed, and never looking down the stairwell at the completely dumbfounded drunkard below.

Tony supposed he should be grateful they weren't fucking (yet), and he cleared his throat to try and make them aware of his presence before any zippers started coming undone. Darcy looked down the stairwell at the sound, and actually _grinned_ at Tony, who had opened his fingers a tiny crack to see whether they knew he was there or not.

"Hey, Tony! What's up?" She asked sounding as though she hadn't just been kissing and groping the now beet-red Captain America, whose neck her arm was still wrapped around. Tony was grateful she'd had the decency to remove her hand from Steve's crotch, at least. "Hey, you alright? You look like you've just seen a ghost." She looked genuinely concerned. Tony couldn't help himself. He laughed.

"What the fuck is wrong with you people? Is there something in the damn water?" He groaned through his exasperated laughter, rubbing his face with his hands. Steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, looking down at his shoes and detaching Darcy from him. She frowned. 

"C'mon, Darcy, let's just... go somewhere else..." Steve said timidly. Tony rolled his eyes, continuing to climb the stairs until he was even with the couple, although he would never be able to look Steve directly in the eyes without his suit on. Actually, he wasn't sure how he intended to look Steve in the eyes after that moment.

"Oh, just... Just carry on. I'm going to go find that bottle of scotch in my room. I think it's somewhere in my bed..." he said the la part mostly to himself, and Darcy barely contained her laughter unti he was out of earshot. 

"He sleeps with a bottle of scotch?!" She asked, howling with laughter. "Oh my god, he needs a girlfriend!" She exclaimed, her laughter fading to chuckles. 

"He's never going to hear the end of that, is he..." Steve asked, smiling affectionately down at Darcy. 

"Nope," She said. She leaned up then, her mouth immediately next to Steve's ear, her lips grazing his earlode as she whispered. "But neither are we."

While, as Tony reached his room at long last, a bottle of scotch that someone may or may not have dressed up in sexy lingerie, which was proably the work of a certain sneaky assassin couple who were rudely interrupted last night awaited the Iron Man. Entering, he saw it on his bed and groaned out loud. 

"What the fuck..." He said, dragging out the fuck in a low groan. "Well..." He paused and tilted his head to each side, as if considering drinking the scotch or throwing it at Natasha and Clint's door. "Free scotch." He decided with a shrug, and undressed the bottle, pouring himself a large glass. 

When life (or a bird-spider couple) gives you scotch, get wasted (or in Tony's case, _more_ wasted) and sleep with the bottle. Right? Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the most amusing things I have ever written. x3 Honestly, I don't even care if no one likes it, because I literally made myself laugh so NYEH. xD I'm also very very mature. Do whatever you do! If you liked it, share it with your friends ^w^


	3. On a Wednesday Night...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony attempts to drown the memories he's acquired in the past two nights in a good 20-year-old scotch, and ends up further scarred both mentally and a little bit physically.

Tony was rather crippled by the past nights' experiences. First, Clint and Natasha. In his elevator. And then, wouldn't you have guessed it, Cap decided to just waltz Darcy onto the staircase landing. Seeing as the stairs and the elevator having both been compromised, and Tony being in no state to fly his ass up to his floor, all that was left to do was to scale the side of the building. Of course. Because although he was too drunk to fly his suit, he was _totally_ not too drunk to climb five stories up Stark Tower. Let this be a lesson, children: if you are too drunk to fly, you are too drunk to climb. 

Tony, of course, could not see any reason why he wouldn't be able to climb his own damn tower. And so, with these handy new little devices which he clipped to his hands and feet (first test ever), Tony decided to climb his ass out a window and begin his ascent. They were sortof like little suction cups. So he called them the little suction cups. In fact, when he was fully conscious and coherent, he would have actually asked Jarvis to turn on the little suction cups. As it was, he scrabbled at the side of the building for several seconds, sliding steadily down with that rubbery sound that hands frantically trying to hold on to glass make. As soon as he realized that he hadn't fucking turned them on, he yelled for Jarvis.

"Yes, sir?" The robot asked coolly. "Woud you like those on, sir?"

"Yes, Jarvis, i would like to not be falling down the side of Stark tower!" Tony yelled back, in a panic. Immediately, the devices made a light humming noise- the sound of the air vaccuums- and Tony felt himself stick to the glass. He picked one hand up first, and placed it down, then his lg, then his other leg, then his other hand. Slowly, he got the hang of crawling. He giggled. He was crawling up the side of Stark Tower. What floor was this, anyway? Probably his, right? Yeah, this was defintely his floor.

Unfortunately, Tony was convinced that the floor he came to was, in fact, his own place of residence. It was not as as he ordered the window open, Jarvis tried to warn him..But it was too late. Tony had sealed his doom in crawling through that window.

Fortunately, it was a better doom than the last two nights. It was just Bruce. Bruce was cute. Bruce was peaceful and sleeping and... And Bruce had popped a boner. A very large, obvious boner. Tony found himself wondering why anyone slept on their back. It made tents. Who wanted to make tents? Tony scrathced his head, looking confused. Why was Bruce in _Tony's_ bed, anyway? Because it _was_ Tony's bed. Yeah. Had to be. No way Tony could mistake his own bedroom. Psh. 

Shrugging, the Genuis-BIllionaire-Playboy-Philanthropist stripped out of his jeans and t-shirt and cralwed into the bed. It was a King. There was room. And it wasn't gay. It wasn't!  Tony turned his back to Bruce, who was still sleeping soundly, and faded into a drunken slumber, much like death. 

Waking up in the morning is never a happy experience. You are pulled form the warm fuzzies of slumber into the harsh world around you. It is even less pleasant when you realize that there is someone else in your bed. Not in the way that makes you think "oh. What did I _do_ last night?" More in the way of "Whoah, why the _fuck_ is _he_ in my _bed_?!". Which is the appropriate response to finding Tony Stark half naked in your bed, trying to sprawl out across a king which he'd somehow commondeered without waking you up in the middle of the night. The next thought, though, is "Why is my window open?" And then everything starts to come together. Bruce, in all of his eloquence of the moment, facepalmed. As he did so, he had to detach something from his forehead. Something that stuck, like a cution... A suction cup. Tony had somehow brought with his the little suction cups. Which lead Bruce to a wholly impossible conclusion. What kind of man scales a building and crawls into the wrong bedroom? Bruce answered himself witht he obvious: a drunk one.

Needless to say, he had no idea what to do. What _did_ one do in a situation like this? And then he found himself even more confused (and now incredibly embarrassed) to find that he'd gone to bed naked. Completely and utterly naked. Tony had climbed into bed with a naked man. Bruce's blush turned his cheeks crimson as he sliped out of bed and hurried to pull on boxers, pants, and a t-shirt. Even when fully clothed, Bruce felt as awkward as he had before. And there seemed to be no giving the poor scientist a break, because Tony began to stir, stretching out, his eyes beginning to flutter open. 

"Wh... Why's the window open?" He asked groggily. The sun streamed into his eyes. "Shades down." he said. The shades dropped out the window, hanging there. "Window closed." There was a crunch as the window closed over the shades that were meant to cover it. The room went fairly dark. Bruce's heart pounded in his chest. He felt like a trapped rat. What should he _do_? The poor man had dreamed of waking up to Tony in his bed for ages, but not like this. Tony clearly thought it was his bed. In his room. It wasn't even his floor. Bruce groaned inwardly. 

There was more stirring from across the room. Tony stretched, rubbed his eyes, and continued to mutter to himself. Where were his pants? Earpiece? Shirt? Oh. All there. In a pile. Tony stood, made no move to put his clothes back on, and shoved his earpiece back in. He didn't notice Bruce until the scientist cleared his throat, blushing furiously. 

"Uh... Tony, you're uh... You're in my room." Bruce said awkwardly. Tony looked around. Twice. And a third time.

"Oh." He said, looking rather unconcerned. "Yeah, I wondered why you were in my bed." He seemed completely unconcerned. Tony scratched his stomach. Bruce stared.

"You... How dd you even... Tony, _why_ are you in my room?" Bruce asked triedly. He was thoroughly confused and had been given a rather rude awakening. 

Tony shrugged. "Probably thought it was mine." He said. "It's a floor directly below mine." He shrugged again. Bruce sighed, rubbing his face.

"How did you even get in here? Through the window?" Bruce asked.

"I used the little suction cups." Tony said, as though that were the most obvious explanation. Bruce held one up.

"You mean these?" He asked, looking at it more closely. It had shut off after Tony had removed it last night. "What the hell even is it?" Bruce asked, fascinated by the gadget.

"Suction cup. You know, with some advantage. I added the air vaccuums and there's LED lights for super intense spy-work."

"Or for climbing into your best friend's window in the middle of the night." Bruce muttered.

"Or that." Tony said. Bruce sighed and handed Tony the gadget. 

"Why'd you make them, anyway?" He asked. Tony shrugged.

"I was bored. I was going to give them to Natasha and Clint but I'm avoiding them right now. At least I know they work." 

"You tested them... by climbing Stark Tower..?" Bruce asked incredulously.  Tony nodded.

"I can't use the elevator or the stairs anymore." Tony said simply. As thought that, too, was the most obvious thing on the planet.

"..Why?" Bruce asked.

"Well, the elevator has been compromised by two assassins and the stairs are captained by Steve and Darcy." Tony smirked to himself, amused by his own word puns. Bruce paused as things came together in his head.

"Oh... Yeah, that's kind of unpleasant..." He said, rubbing th eback of his neck awkwardly. "So... You got drunk, decided that you can't take the stairs, and strapped into those things... And then you climbed through the wrong window and crawled into bed with me..?" Bruce claified. Tony nodded.

"Pretty much."

"Oh... Well... Do you want breakfast?"


End file.
